


if you go to Winterfell (be sure to wear some flowers in your hair)

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Hippies, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Smut, Underage Sex, What Was I Thinking?, don't even ask me where it came from because I have no clue, like seriously this is basically crack with a suitable dose of porn going with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I’ve heard about </i>here<i> for half of my life and I always thought I’d like it better than at home", Theon says."Then – stuff happened and I figured that maybe I should just stop thinking about it and – doing it. And – well. I took a ship and here I am.”</i></p><p><i>“Hey, the </i>don’t dream it, be it <i>is a perfectly good philosophy of life," Robb answers, trying to stop himself from grinning openly. "Actually, it’s </i>the<i> philosophy of life around here, as far as I’m concerned.”</i></p><p>Or: where Winterfell is a commune during the seventies and there's nothing Theon wants more than to go live there. When he actually does, it turns out to be the best idea he ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you go to Winterfell (be sure to wear some flowers in your hair)

**Author's Note:**

> So uhm. One day I went and thought 'what if Winterfell was a commune in the seventies?' and I actually went and shared with someone who instead of telling me that I was insane went like IT'S A GENIUS IDEA YOU SHOULD TOTALLY DO IT. Aaaand I did it but I never got around to post it and since it's throbb week, here you go.
> 
> A bit of background in case it's not clear from the fic itself: the way I thought this out, Westeros is a place that actually, like, *exists* in our world and this is supposed to be set in our 70s so that's why they listen to the same music/drive Volkswagen cars/etcetera. Also every place is either a constitutional monarchy or a presidential republic except for the Iron Islands which is supposed to be still a full-on monarchy, but that's why they're behind on the times. Aaaand really just don't take this seriously - I'm also sure that it's not even realistic but it's pretty much totally crack, so. Also the reason this is tagged underage sex is that both Robb and Theon are sixteen but that's the extent of it.
> 
> Nothing belongs to me except the plot (... for what it's worth) and the title is an *incredibly clever* (... not really /o\\) reworking of _San Francisco_ by Scott McKenzie, but really just looking at it should give you an idea of what this is even.
> 
> Oh, and since we're making names: thanks to [queen_c](http://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_c) for actually cheerleading this ridiculousness. ;) ;)

The headline on the magazine reads _Free state of Winterfell wins the last appeal_. Theon is smiling slightly as he cuts the article carefully. When he’s done, he re-reads it for probably the twentieth time – knowing that from yesterday no one is ever going to question Winterfell’s right to be a free state is doing wonders to lift up his mood. Then he sighs, knowing that he has to hide it as soon as possible. He grabs a scrapbook from a drawer in the hideous, black desk he has in his room (it was his uncle’s and pointing out that just sitting at it makes him think depressing thoughts isn’t an option) and then he opens it at the third-to-last page. He grabs some glue and carefully attaches it – when he’s done, he doesn’t resist the temptation to sneak a look at the previous pages, even if he knows that he shouldn’t keep it in the open if he can help it. Fuck knows what’d happen if his father or his brothers found out.

(Being the last son of the last not-parliamentary monarchy in Westeros when you hate everything about your homeland isn’t easy. But saying out loud that you’d prefer another lifestyle isn’t a very good idea. So he keeps his preferences hidden.)

He runs through the articles he collected through the years. The trial and appeals that in the end sentenced that Winterfell had every right to secede and do as it pleased, an interview with Brandon Stark (the first who had the idea of changing radically the way things run in his homeland, which avoided a war, so Theon can’t see why people argue with it. If his sister had two men who wanted to be with her, one of which married, and if everyone agreed including the married couple, why not allow them to just – have a four-way thing? Theon thinks that Brandon Stark is a political genius, but it’s not an opinion he shares out loud), another with his brother Ned, who keeps the public relations with all the other states in Westeros, one showing Ned’s family – which, in spite of being brought up in an environment where marriages don’t technically exist and everyone can be with whoever they want, as many as they are, looks every inch… not strange. It’s five kids (six, counting Ned Stark’s nephew Jon – whose father might be either of his mother’s suitors, but no one ever bothered to find out and apparently they’re all fine with that), and they all look so _happy_ , not as gloomy as his own brothers do. They’re all looking at each other with the faces of people who love each other and will have each others’ back at any occasion (and if Theon’s eyes linger on the eldest, Robb, who is pretty much the embodiment of gorgeousness and who, in all the interviews, comes across as the most decent person ever, well, no one is there to tell him he shouldn’t). There is a bad rep about Winterfell in… pretty much every state in Westeros except Dorne, and during that trial it had been said that children brought up in that kind of environment would turn out to be deviants, but from what it seems, it’s an entirely different thing. Surely they seem closer than Theon is with any of his brothers. And more than he is with his sister, thought at least Asha doesn’t, like, outright tell to his face that he’s a waste of time and a poor excuse for an ironborn.

As if. It’s not his fault if he doesn’t care for royal etiquette, if he likes archery better than football and if he doesn’t care for the family history. Actually, whenever he revises family history, he wants to vomit because seriously, he doesn’t think that gaining power by reaving villages and committing a whole damn lot of violence is something he should be proud of. Then again, that’d be the first reason why he fell in love with the idea of Winterfell. Other than the whole thing about free love, it’s also forbidden to carry firearms inside it, or to get into fights that are more serious than a punch to the face, and in the local school they apparently teach children that violence is useless and that you don’t need monarchies to have a decently-run State. Which is probably the one reason why people in Westeros have opposed Winterfell’s existence tooth and nail, but there you have it.

Theon opens another random page, the one where some recent interview with Robb Stark is, and where he’s discussing Winterfell’s policy with some journalist from Dorne. No, he doesn’t think they’re being raised wrong. No, he doesn’t see what’s wrong with not caring about who does what with whom. No, he doesn’t have a definite sexual preference – if he likes someone, he likes them, he doesn’t care about the gender. Yes, he’ll probably take his father’s place as spokesperson in some years but no, they don’t treat him differently for it and he doesn’t even want to. No, he doesn’t see why everyone is concerned with the fact that you can sell recreational drugs in Winterfell – if you’re older than fourteen then it’s your call and they take care to keep it carefully under control, and they forbid selling anything heavier than marijuana. Yes, if someone wants to go live there they just have to ask and provided that they aren’t there to cause trouble, there’s space for plenty of people and they’re more than happy to welcome them – Winterfell is still a relatively small number of people, in comparison to its size. No, he doesn’t believe in blood relations tromping every other relation – why?

And he’s just so handsome, Theon thinks – huge blue eyes, that red hair that looks like a spot of color in his otherwise bland, dark room. He sighs, closing the scrapbook and putting it back in the drawer as waves crash against the castle – he can feel the noise up here in his room. Then it starts to pour rain and he sighs again – fuck, he hates the weather on Pyke. He hates everything on Pyke, but it’s not like he can say it out loud. Not when Winterfell is the only topic that is guaranteed to make his father mad if brought up. Balon Greyjoy is of the opinion that it’s made of soft people who couldn’t even put on a resistance if someone declared war on them, which is a pretty damn fucking big fault, not to mention that this entire free love thing sounds like unnecessary coddling and – yeah. All the arguments that most of Westeros (except Dorne and the Wall) has against the free state of Winterfell.

Whatever.

He has thought about it, sometimes. Just packing his backpack, take a ship back to the mainland and get there somewhat – after all, the magazines (and the constitution, which actually exists, in spite of what most uninformed people think) state that whoever wants is welcomed. And – well, it couldn’t be worse than here. Since his mother died ten years ago, he hasn’t really received much attention from anyone. He has some fond memories of the various housekeepers paid to pay attention to him and none of his own brothers – fine, they were already ten and twelve when he was born, but still, being told that they didn’t have time to waste on him every time he asked to do something with them wasn’t an excuse. His sister is better, at least she does spend time with him, and she did after their mother died, but she’s crap at showing any kind of emotional attachment and his father – well. He already had two sons he was perfectly content with and who fit all of his expectations, and Theon can’t remember the last time he paid serious attention to him.

What’d he lose?

He sighs, knowing that he’ll never do it anyway – it would be a scandal, minor, sure, but still a scandal – and he gets ready for dinner.

\--

Dinner is, as usual, a gloomy affair. None of his uncles is here, as well, which means that it’s mostly Rodrik and Maron talking about shit that went down with the council or about how the warships are being cared for even if they technically don’t need any warship ready when there’s a truce between every stupid State in this continent at the moment, and their father being extremely impressed with it. Or with Asha’s excellent results at fencing lessons – she’s aiming to run for the next Olympics and Theon has no doubt that she’ll manage. It just means that the only person in this stupid castle that gives him some credit or some time of their day will be around even less than usual. No one asks him about his day, not that he wants them to, and it’s cold in the dining hall. Theon looks at the black and dark gold tapestries covering the entirety of the room, thinks about the airy rooms full of flowers he saw in magazines and wants to cry into his fish soup.

(He fucking hates fish.)

However, he doesn’t know that his life is about to change in less than two hours.

Just after dinner is over, his father gets some important phone call from uncle Victarion, most probably about those minor islands wanting to secede, which means that the mood is going to turn sour in a short while.

So Theon goes back to his room, wishing it was late enough to have a reason to go to bed already. But it’s really too early and so he chances grabbing the scrapbook again. He searches for that other magazine article he had found a couple of years ago, the one that showed the rooms in the castle (Ned Stark’s PR strategy is to show as much of what’s going on in Winterfell as possible – you can’t fear what you know, he always says on the news). And yes, there was the room where the Stark family eats – it’s huge, with the walls painted in blue, no tapestries, vases full of fresh flowers everywhere and open windows, not the always-closed-shutters that he gets downstairs.

For fuck’s sake, he’s sixteen, he should stop having these stupid fantasies, but he can’t help it – he likes what he sees a lot better than what he has.

And then his brother Rodrik storms into the room without knocking.

 _Fuck. Fuck_.

“And what are you doing here?” he asks, walking inside as if he owns the place. (Not that he’d want to – his room is a lot bigger and on a side of the castle that is a lot less noisy.)

“Revising some homework,” he replies, trying to keep it cool. If he doesn’t see what’s inside…

“Oh, _homework_. Right, because you never forget that. What homework?”

“Maths,” he answers, hoping that Rodrik buys it – he always hated maths, so maybe –

He isn’t that lucky.

“Well then, why don’t you let me see it?”

“Why do you even care? And – no, give it back, damn –”

Too late.

Too fucking late.

Theon is sure that he goes pale at once, the moment his brother actually opens the scrapbook and sees what’s inside.

“But look here. Do we have a traitor in our ranks then?” he asks, sounding as if he just doesn’t care whether the answer is yes or not, and shit, he doesn’t have the right.

“It’s not – it’s not that. Just – can’t you just forget it?”

“Forget it? Oh, I think I’m going to keep it for now. And to show it to our father tomorrow morning.”

Scratch it – Theon knows that he must have gone pale now. “Why? Why would you – it’s _nothing_ , I –”

“He’s been wondering what you were up to lately, since you look even more sullen than usual. I’m pretty sure this might clear his mind – that’s why I followed you up here, mind it, it’s not like I care. And tomorrow morning, I wouldn’t want to be you.”

“But –”

“You’re an ironborn, Theon. It’s time you start acting like one.”

Theon winces as the door closes, and – fuck. Fuck, he can’t stay here. If his father finds out – well, no, he thinks that nothing horrible would happen, because there’s the press and they might be a monarchy but it doesn’t mean they get a free pass for everything, but at best it would mean his father not ever speaking a word to him in the foreseeable future and at worst, well – at worst he’ll be out of every royal family picture or statement. Not that he gives a shit, he doesn’t really care for being royalty – look what good it did to him, since according to the family code you can’t get friendly with commoners and it’s meant that he’s spent most of his life either on his own or with his sister or with the housekeepers – but still, he doesn’t relish the idea of feeling like some kind of dog that gets kicked out of the door when he outlived his usefulness.

And then he thinks – why the fuck shouldn’t he just leave? At least it’d mean that he goes on his terms, not to mention that neither his father nor his brothers probably think that he has it in him. It’s not that far until Winterfell – there’s a ship for Seagard every hour, and it’s some six hours from Pyke to the mainland. And then – well, he could try to find a lift or two or at worst he could walk – it’d take him maybe five days total. He could lie about his identity and ask to stay in the village surrounding the castle – he knows that in order to do that you have to contribute to the community someway, but that’s not an issue. He can shoot decently, so he could go hunting at worst, and it’s not like he’s _useless_ – he could find something to do. 

The only issue is that he needs money. He would have access to the royal family’s account if he only was eighteen – fuck that, too. But – well. His sister is. And – if he asked her…

Fine.

Fuck it. He’s doing it.

He grabs a duffel bag that doesn’t look royal at all and fills it up with the heaviest clothes he has – it’s cold at Winterfell, and he knows it. Then he grabs his backpack and surveys the room. He can leave his textbooks and notebooks – useless. But he isn’t leaving his Led Zeppelin records behind, fuck no, and so he fits them carefully into the backpack. He grabs what he has left of his mother’s books from his shelf and then stuffs in another bunch of novels that he wouldn’t want to leave behind. And then he puts everything under the bed and runs until the other side of the hall.

When he opens the door after knocking, he finds Asha with her hands deep in her stereo – something broke, probably, and his sister is enough of a bad poster girl for femininity that she’s trying to fix it herself. And she’ll probably succeed.

“What happened?” she asks, looking at him as if she’s mildly scared. He probably looks horrible.

“I have to leave,” he says. “And I need you to get some money for me.”

“You have to do what?”

He sighs and explains the situation, hoping that she actually helps him instead of ratting him out.

When he’s done, Asha is looking at him as if she can’t even believe what she’s just heard. Then she shakes her head, goes to her desk and takes out a small carton box.

“Now,” she says, “I think that you’re insane and that running isn’t the best way to solve problems. But, well, let’s say that it isn’t any news.”

“What?”

“You forgot that scrapbook on top of your desk once. Just be thankful that it was me searching for you that day instead of Maron. Or Rodrik. Whatever, that’s not the point. And it’s not like you don’t have reasons to want to be out of here. I can’t get to a bank now, especially since it’s nine in the damned evening, but I have some cash here – just take it, I can get more tomorrow.”

She opens a box on her table and hands him the content– there’s a handful of Westeros dollars inside. He counts quickly – it’s enough for the trip to Seagard, probably not enough for a train to Winterfell, too, but he can worry about that later.

“Asha –”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I just hope that it’s as nice as you think it is.”

“But – aren’t you – I mean, you don’t have a problem?”

She shrugs. “I sincerely don’t give a shit about people’s sex lives. If you want to live somewhere where no one questions it if you’re with five people at once, your business, not mine. I’m not sure it’s where I’d like to live, I’m fine here, but if it’s what you want, knock yourself out, little brother. I’m sure our mother wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable. And just fucking leave already before someone else finds out.”

He just nods at her, feeling completely out of the loop, not knowing what he should even say, and so he takes the money and runs back to his room.

Everything is where he left it. Good. He grabs the backpack and the bag and gets down the stairs, passes from the staff quarters and gets out from the entrance reserved for maids, cleaners and so on.

No one tries to stop him.

\--

Clearly, boarding the ship sailing at midnight means getting the worst one out of the lot. It’s full of people going to Seagard for the next couple of days – it’s the week-end and there drinks are cheaper and free gigs from local bands are a lot more frequent – which means that everyone is half-drunk already and that all seats are taken when he boards, ten minutes before it leaves.

He finds himself a corner and puts the duffel bag behind him and the backpack in front of him, hoping that he goes unnoticed and that the ship gets to the mainland on time.

He’s never been away from the islands before – no one thought that he’d have a reason to go. It’s not like he was ever going to rule or needed to learn diplomacy – and he can’t help feeling slightly terrified, except that he’s also determined to get there at this point. If a minor scandal happens, well, fuck them.

\--

The ship lands at the crack of dawn and his legs are shaking when he gets down – he also feels mildly sick, but he’s always hated ships. Another reason why he always hated Pyke. He wraps his coat tighter around his shoulders and looks at the money he has left – enough to buy himself a meal, not enough for a train or a bus, and train and buses don’t even get to Winterfell directly.

He thinks about it as he eats a half-decent hot dog bought at the first place he saw the moment he walked outside the harbor.

And he comes to the answer that the best option is probably hitchhiking. Which is also fucking dangerous, but it’s for free – hopefully – and maybe he would find someone going there. Or that way, at least. Theon sighs again, grabs a scarf from the duffel bag, wraps it around the lower half of his face and feels thankful that Seagard isn’t really that big. He asks for directions until he gets to a bus station, and he does have enough money to buy a ticket until the beginning of the turnpike. It’s fucking cold, his coat isn’t anywhere as heavy as needed, and he tries not to shiver as he gets off the bus and sits down on a huge stone some fifty meters from the turnpike’s entrance.

Then he raises his hand, his thumb upwards.

It’s eight in the morning, so it’s not as if there are many cars around, but the attempt is depressing – the first four that pass by don’t even attempt to stop. The fifth does, but the guy inside stares at his belt instead of listening to him and Theon cuts the conversation short before walking back towards the turnpike’s entrance. The guy doesn’t attempt to get out of the car and leaves. Theon goes back to the rock.

The sixth person is a woman and she looks thoroughly decent, but when he says Winterfell she answers that she’s a devout Seven worshiper and even if she was going that way she wouldn’t bring him with.

Fine.

At ten in the morning, his fingers feel frozen – why didn’t he bring gloves? – and he’s half-starving. He feels horrible and for a moment he debates whether it’d be too embarrassing to just break down and start crying in the middle of the road, except that he’s too busy freezing to put any effort into it.

And then he hears someone honking.

He raises his eyes and looks at his left – there’s some kind of Volkswagen van parked a few meters from where he is. A colorful Volkswagen van – it’s red with random bumper stickers all over it. And he can see a couple of kids in the back, so at least it’s not some crazy maniac driving it.

Then someone opens the driver’s door and a moment later a man in his late forties, dressed heavily, with a plain but kind face and the car keys in his hand is standing in front of him.

“Let me guess,” he says, “you’re looking for a ride and you’re not from around here, or you’d have some heavier clothes. Am I wrong?”

“No. On both accounts.”

“Right. Where are you going?”

“Winterfell. But I can also get off anywhere in that direction.”

The man gives him a half-smile, which is definitely more than he had been hoping for. “Well then, it’s your lucky day. I’m actually going there.”

“To – to Winterfell?”

“Yes. I have some business to take care of. And while it’s pretty cramped in the back, I’m sure my kids can make some space for you.”

“Oh. Well – that’d be – wow. Thank you, I can’t even say. Mister?”

“Seaworth. But please call me Davos. And you are?”

“Theon.” He doesn’t supply his last name – better not chance his luck.

“Well then, get in. Devan, Stannis, scoot over, we have a passenger!”

 _Stannis_? This guy has to be from the Stormlands, otherwise he wouldn’t have named his son after the current king. Whose brother lives at Winterfell with Lyanna Stark, so maybe he’s here for some business with him? Who knows. It’s not his problem.

When Theon gets inside the van, the back is almost completely filled with suitcases and backpacks and boxes, but the two kids who had been sitting on the floor (one has to be ten and the other eight, or close to it) scoot over so that he has a place to sit. He looks over at the front – other than Mr. Seaworth, there’s another passenger in the front – it’s a boy who has to be some four or five years older than him.

“Thank you,” he tells the kids as he sits down, relishing the heat.

“So,” Mr. Seaworth says as he starts up the engine, “the two destroyers with you are Devan and Stannis, this here is Matthos. Boys, that’s Theon, he’s coming with us. You’re planning on staying there or you’re visiting?”

“Uh. I was – I was planning to stay, actually, but –”

“Don’t fret. It was just so that I’d know where to drop you off.”

Then he raises the heating and starts the car.

He spends the trip trying to answer the kids’ questions without giving too much away – he had to admit outright that he was from Pyke, and he hopes that no one puts two and two together. If he’s sent back not to cause a diplomatic incident…

He isn’t thinking about _that_.

In a car, the trip takes about ten hours. He insists to buy his own lunch when they get off at a gas station midway, he buys a pair of gloves just to be sure that his hands don’t freeze off and he learns that Davos Seaworth does in fact work for Stannis Baratheon (how, Theon doesn’t know), and that he’s going to Winterfell to settle some things because some people he knows are planning to move there. Theon is half-sure that it’s a lie – he wouldn’t be carrying three sons with him along with that amount of suitcases if they weren’t planning to actually stay there, but he keeps his mouth shut and pretends to buy what he was told. After spending another four hours playing _I spy_ with the kids in the back, he notices that the sun is starting to set and then he glances out of the window to see a sign saying _Free State of Winterfell – One Mile_.

His heart is not starting to beat louder in his chest. It’s _not_.

A minute later, they cross a road with a lone phone cabin and Mr. Seaworth stops the car.

“Matthos, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Go there and call Luwin, tell him that there’s someone who should talk to Ned or whoever is there today for housing purposes. At least he won’t lose time when I drop him off – I’ll come get you in twenty-five.”

Matthos nods and Theon shouts him a heartfelt thanks before he gets off the van. And then Mr. Seaworth starts the car again and drives for another fifteen minutes until they start to see some houses. Right. That has to be the village, the one close to the entrance to the free state, and it means that –

Mr. Seaworth stops the car a minute later in front of the hugest gates that Theon has ever seen. Which are also open. Mr. Seaworth pulls down the window and waves at a young man who’s standing guard at the gate, and who isn’t armed, by the way.

“Jory! Did my son talk to Luwin?”

“Yes, and he talked to me. You can go your way, just drop off your passenger here and I’ll take care of it.”

“Great. All right, there you go. Just follow him and they’ll sort you out.”

 _Is it so easy?_ Theon thinks, but he’s not ever going to question his luck. “Wow. I’ll go then. Thank you again, I can’t begin to –”

“Oh, don’t. I didn’t even have to take a detour. Well, I’ll see you around before I have to leave. And don’t fret – they love newcomers.”

Theon waves goodbye to Devan and Stannis before grabbing his duffel and his backpack and getting out of the van. He takes a good look around and _wow_. It’s – it’s exactly as he imagined it. The village, as far as he can see, is made of colorful small houses, two storeys at most, and the people he sees running around don’t look as grim as most people back home.

Then he turns towards the castle and – he thinks he’s left breathless. It’s huge, and there are gardens full of winter flowers blooming along the path walking to the entrance. And said flowers are all over the balconies, and it makes it look welcoming instead of – well, the way all castles look.

Then he remembers that he’s not on his own.

“So, you’re interested in living here?” the guard – Jory – asks him. Theon looks up at him, knowing that he’s probably flushing.

“Yes. I mean – wherever would be good. It’s that –”

“Don’t fret, it’s fine. As I’m sure Davos told you, we want new people. But you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Come along, I’ll explain you how it works.”

“Oh. Thanks. How is it?”

“Well, we’re getting inside the castle and then I’m going to leave you in a room upstairs – standard procedure. Then someone is going to ask you who you are and why are you interested in living here, but don’t worry, it’s just a formality.”

“Someone?”

“Depends on who’s around today. Usually it’s either Ned or Cat, but it could also be Robb or Sansa or Jon – they’re the only ones old enough around.”

Theon almost wants to faint. Especially at the fact that everyone is apparently on a first name basis, but the idea that _Robb Stark_ might be the one to talk to him first –

Fuck. Okay. He has to breathe and to avoid hyperventilating, because no. He can’t afford to fuck up his chance, formality or not.

And the only thing he can think other than that is _holy shit I’m in Winterfell_.

And he’s so occupied with nurturing that thought that he doesn’t notice someone looking down at them from the balcony.

 

\------

 

The moment Robb hears that someone might be joining their ranks he almost punches the air in victory – it’s been weeks since someone came and not just to see what the fuss is about, and it’s not like he doesn’t take his position seriously. It’s not really that many people in their small free state, and more is always a good thing – and other than that, when you know each single one of them you kind of yearn for new faces. Not that he’d change the way things are, absolutely not, but still, a new face means _excitement_.

Also, it’s not like he’ll be the one questioning them – his father is at the castle, so it’s automatically his job.

But still, it doesn’t stop him from grabbing Jon and Sansa to go to the first floor balcony to see who’s the new arrival.

And – okay, so, there are defining moments in someone’s life and all that jazz, and the moment Robb Stark sets his eyes on Theon Greyjoy is one of them. Or maybe it’s a love at first sight moment. Robb doesn’t know what it is exactly and he doesn’t even care to label it – labels never were his thing – but it doesn’t change that when he goes out of the balcony and looks down at Jory and the new person, the only coherent thought in his head is _oh fuck I don’t even know your name but I want to keep you forever and possibly in my room_. It’s not just that the new arrival is his age, maybe a bit older but it can’t be much, and it’s not just that he’s exactly his type (dark hair that is just the right length, pale skin that looks quite soft, nice features, and that looks like a pretty nice body under all the clothes he’s wearing). It’s that he’s looking at his surroundings in complete awe, which Robb finds kind of adorable, and at the same time he’s holding himself not quite right, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if he isn’t sure of his welcome.

Well, fuck it.

“Jon, Sansa?” he asks. “If anyone dares speaking to him before I do, they’ll regret it. Just a friendly heads-up.”

“Oh dear,” Jon sighs, “I’ll go tell Arya that I’m bunking with her. I’m not sleeping in the room next to yours tonight.”

And then he goes back inside the castle. Sansa looks down at the new guy, then up at Robb again. “Well, all yours, if he agrees, obviously. But you should probably tell Dad first, since he’s getting ready for the general niceties.”

“Right. Sure. Well, uh, I’m going. Just – don’t, okay? Not you, not Arya, not Bran and not Rickon and not _any-fucking-one_.”

“Woah, you really like him,” Sansa says, a certain glint in her eyes.

“You don’t even want to know,” Robb mutters under his breath before running towards his dad’s study.

When he walks inside, Ned is rolling himself a cigarette, not that he’s going to offer it but his dad does like to have a smoke once in a while.

“Dad?” Robb asks, wanting to cut it straight to the heart of the matter.

“Yes?”

“Did they tell you that there’s a new person?”

“Yes. About that –”

“Would you mind letting me do the questioning?”

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow before sighing and putting the joint aside. “No, but there’s something I should tell you first. So, this morning, we received a telegram. Well, everyone in Westeros received it. It was from Balon Greyjoy. Apparently his youngest son fled the Islands, not that I can blame him since they’re the most damn horrid place in this continent. And it said that if anyone knows of his whereabouts, they should be notified. Now, do you know how said son is named?”

Robb tries to recall it – not that said youngest son ever went around with his brothers or his father, and while Robb’s met a fair share of heirs in Westeros, well, he wasn’t one of them. “Wait, Theon?”

“Right. And when Seaworth’s kid called saying they had someone to drop by at the gate, they said the name was Theon.”

Oh, shit. Well. Wait. Robb isn’t a believer in bandaging your head before breaking it.

“Does that mean that we have to –”

“Robb, we’re a _free state_. If he wants to stay here, he’s welcome to – we never made exceptions for anyone except convicted felons and we’re not going to start now. Just keep that in mind, though. And mind that you’re talking with royalty. If he wants to live here he obviously isn’t expecting any of the usual standards, but still.”

“Oh. Okay. Fine. So, that means –”

“Robb Stark, I know you. And while I might be regretting leaving you with your uncle for too much time, I also know how you tick. Set him up wherever you like as long as he’s agreeing with it. And for the love of all the old gods, keep it down.”

“Right. I will. I swear I will. I’m – I’ll be going now, then. Just –”

“Go ravish him. Just not as soon as he sits on the sofa,” Ned says while handwaving him out, and Robb can’t believe his fucking luck.

Then he goes to the first bathroom he sees and washes his face, because he’s not going in there looking flustered, damn it.

\--

Before going inside the waiting room he can’t help stealing a glance from the slightly opened door. Theon is sitting on the yellow sofa (it’s yellow just because they don’t want that specific room to look gloomy or unwelcoming), staring at the vase of flowers on the table in front of him, his hands in his lap, looking half excited and half terrified.

The terrified won’t do.

So he knocks on the door and then walks inside the room.

“Hi,” he says going straight to the sofa., sitting down on the side that Theon isn’t occupying and extending his hand. “I’m Robb. Welcome to Winterfell.”

“Oh – uh, I’m Theon. Thank you?” Theon answers, looking kind of flustered, his eyes going slightly wide as he shakes Robb’s hand. He looks – not exactly awed, but close. And he’s staring down at Robb’s mouth.

_Interesting._

“No need for thanks. So, I suppose that if you’re here you’re interested in… taking a permanent residence? If you like it, of course. No one has to stay if it doesn’t turn out to be what they wanted.” _Except that I really hope that you do_.

“Well – yes, actually. I’ve read that you can, if –”

“Obviously. As stated, we welcome everyone except convicted felons, but I doubt that it’s your case. So, well, let’s just put it out in the open – I know who you are.”

And damn – Theon’s face literally falls. “Oh. You – you do?”

“Er, yes. I think everyone in Westeros in a position of some kind of power does. There was a telegram. But, well, this is a free state and we have no obligation to any other whatsoever. If you want to stay then you’re staying – no one is refusing because of that.”

Theon’s expression goes from dejected to slightly hopeful again. “Oh. Well. Then – thanks. Really.”

“Hey, it’s protocol. So, now that we have that out of the way, can I ask you why are you interested in living here? You can be as vague as you like, really, it’s just formality. We didn’t even bother at the beginning but then they started sending us people who wanted to create problems, mostly sent from Tywin Lannister, so – well, that.”

“Oh, sure. I get it. It’s that – well. I just – I hate it on Pyke. The only family member I have who remembers that I exist most of the time is my sister.”

Which explains why Robb didn’t know how he looked like when he actually has a pretty good idea of how heirs of any Westeros monarchy do look.

“And – I’ve heard about _here_ for half of my life and I always thought I’d like it better than at home", Theon says."Then – stuff happened and I figured that maybe I should just stop thinking about it and – doing it. And – well. I took a ship and here I am.”

“Hey, the _don’t dream it, be it_ is a perfectly good philosophy of life," Robb answers, trying to stop himself from grinning openly. "Actually, it’s _the_ philosophy of life around here, as far as I’m concerned.” Robb is sure that there’s more to the story, but he isn’t going to push it for now. All in good time. “So, well, as stated, seems like a pretty good reason to me, so you’re cleared. That’s all your stuff?”

“Uh – yes. Really, anywhere would be good, I don’t –”

“Oh, don’t. First thing, if your father decides to protest he probably shouldn’t find you in the village. Not that here it matters – I mean, we’re all on first name basis and I’m here doing this entire thing because my uncle is the one who came up with the idea, but other than that, surnames don’t really count anyway. Still, since for outsiders they do, I suppose it’s better to indulge it. That said, I think we have some free rooms on the upper floor, but we haven’t had new people in a long time, so they’re probably cold as fuck and it’s almost night already.”

“I can just –”

“Nonsense. I can go get the room ready and for tonight you can just bunk in with me – I used to share it with Jon and then he went and got one on his own, but his bed is still there.”

Robb pays a lot of attention to what happens now, because his entire strategy is going to be based on that. And – Theon looks absolutely surprised for a moment, and then he honest to the gods flushes red, looking like someone just gave him ten Christmas presents at once, and Robb is sure of his previous impression now.

Excellent. Because if the attraction he felt after second number two was a two-way thing, then it means that he could make a move soon.

It’s not as if he has the intention of even telling someone to get any room ready, but Theon doesn’t need to know that.

He needs other things, though.

“Well – thank you. You don’t need to do it, really, but –”

“It’s absolutely not an issue. So, is that fine with you?”

“Of course, that would –”

“Excellent. Also, from what I see you probably need a hot shower. Well, follow me, we’re going to sort it out in a moment.”

Theon follows him upstairs, looking as if he can’t believe his luck, and Robb tries not to grin as he walks towards his room. He doesn’t need to freak him out more than he already is.

When they get there, he opens the door to his room and switches on the lights – thank fuck he took the time to make the bed this morning.

“So,” he says, “you can have the bed near the door,” he says gesturing to Jon’s old bed. The walls around it are plastered in Led Zeppelin posters, but it’s not like anyone ever sleeps there anyway. “Just put your bag wherever you want. If you want to take out the stuff the backpack use the table in the corner.” He sees that Theon is looking around, taking everything in – the red sheets covering both beds, the decently kept wooden floor, the pictures covering the wall in front of Robb’s desk and – other than the Led Zeppelin posters – another one right over Robb’s bed, with a print of Marlon Brando and Marylin Monroe next to each other. Then he realizes that Theon is most definitely staring at the Led Zeppelin covered wall.

“Please tell me that you’re the first person living here who actually has some decent music taste – I’m the only one who likes them.”

“Oh. Well.” Theon looks half-smug as he opens the backpack and takes out a good number of Zeppelin LPs. Robb thinks that he likes the smug look on him. More than the confused/embarrassed one.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” he mutters, realizing that he just quoted Sansa’s favorite movie. Oh, well.

“So, if you want to take a shower there’s a bathroom just down the hallway, and there should be clean towels, so use whichever you want. Dinner is in an hour – I’ll warn whoever’s cooking tonight to put another place at the table.”

“I’m – I’m having dinner with you?”

Robb shrugs, half-smiling. “Sure. And don’t even try to dress up or anything of the sort.”

As Theon goes towards the bathroom, carrying some clothes from the duffel bag, Robb decides that he needs to revise his plan of action. Other than the point where Theon is not getting out of his room anytime soon, he has to add the one where he loses that bothersome, outsider habit of supposing that there’s someone higher than you on the food chain.

Or lower than you. Same thing really.

And he can’t wait to get down to it.

\--

Dinner is a success – he makes clear that the new seat has to be next to him, and then his uncle Brandon claps him on the back and tells him that he likes this direct approach, and Robb groans and tells him to please keep the embarrassing talking to a minimum. Poor guy just got here even if he obviously wanted to, no need to freak him out.

Thankfully uncle Brandon isn’t completely rubbish at playing the decent human being when he wants to, so there’s no embarrassing talking and the only weird-ish thing is that Theon is obviously not adjusted to the idea of some fifteen people behaving like absolutely nothing was different when he joins the family dinner. And possibly fifteen people being overtly nice, but then again everyone is excited for the entire ‘not having seen a new face in months’ deal and they’ve all been brought up like that, so Robb just eats his dinner and internally notes a score for himself when he sees that Theon has ended up in an utterly casual conversation with Arya, who’s sitting next to him.

About _The Godfather_ , which he’s half-sure that Arya wasn’t allowed to watch. She probably went with Gendry sometime in the last couple of months – well, whatever.

He’s also very pleased to see that Theon helps himself to two servings, but then again he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a day, so Robb doesn’t say anything about it.

When they’re back in his room, he figures that he also should probably give the poor guy a run-down of what he could do.

“So,” he says, “do you want to get a look around tomorrow? It doesn’t look like it from what they say on the outside, but we’re not living like some kind of savages. You probably just saw the village from where Davos dropped you off, but if you walk a bit down that road there are shops for the basic necessities, two cinemas, a record shop which you should probably have a look at if you like Led Zeppelin, they have a lot of stuff, and we have a post office and a local bank, too – not that anyone who robs it would become Lannister-rich, but that’s not the point. Oh, and there’s the merchandise. Where my sister is most of the time – it’s not that we have much, just t-shirts and stuff, but it’s useful and we use it also to give people some prospects – the more they know the less they’re likely to start with ridiculous protest campaigns.”

“Wow. Yeah. Yeah, that’d be a good idea. Though – well, I knew that. About the bank and stuff.”

“… well, that makes you more informed than half of the people passing by.”

“It’s just – I had been thinking about – coming here for some time. I did my homework.”

The more time passes, the more Robb itches to make the damn move, but it’s not quite the right time.

“And – does it meet your expectations? For now?” He knows he’s sounding slightly unsure, but he doesn’t want to find out that he overdid it and possibly fucked it up.

“It surpasses them, actually,” Theon replies, turning towards him, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at Robb, as if he can’t even believe that they’re in the same room and having a conversation that just – fine. Fuck it.

Robb moves so that he’s in front of Theon, who’s sitting on the bed, and takes a breath.

“Right. Listen, uh, so. I’m about to do something which might be either the best idea I ever had or the worst, and I realize that it might make me seem completely insane, so – if you aren’t cool with it just punch me in the face, all right? No hard feelings.”

“What – how – sure, but –”

That’s it – Robb leans down and kisses him, cutting that sentence in half. He doesn’t go past lips on lips just in case Theon actually does punch him, but instead it happens that Theon parts his lips slightly and pushes back as if he isn’t sure of what he’s doing and – fuck, no, that’s not acceptable.

Robb moves his hand so that it’s behind Theon’s head, his fingers finally tangling in that so very soft hair, and he kisses him for real. The moment Theon’s tongue meets his, he thinks his brain goes into short-circuit – a moment later, the two of them have fallen down on Jon’s old bed, and Theon has his nails digging into Robb’s shoulders and they’re kissing like they’re starved for it; the moment they part, the both of them breathing heavily, Robb makes sure that he has his hands on Theon’s shoulders so that he doesn’t even think about getting away.

“Okay,” Robb breathes out, “obviously it was the best idea I ever had.”

“But – _why_?” Theon asks, sounding utterly baffled, but fuck his eyes are so very dark and he’s looking at Robb as if he wouldn’t be opposed to the two of them ravishing each other, and Robb wants to do a lot more than kissing right now.

“If I tell you that I saw you this morning while you were coming in and I thought that I really, really wanted to kiss you would that sound insane?”

Theon licks his lips and Robb thinks that he’d really like to kiss him again, but not right now. They need to talk first.

“If I tell you that I’ve been saving your interviews from a number of magazines for three years, would that sound completely out of line?” he asks, and he sounds half-embarrassed and oh, he really shouldn’t.

“It would be the best thing I heard all day. And I also know that it might sound even more insane, but I really think we both should be in my bed.”

“Isn’t – woah, it’s just – I’m not saying that we shouldn’t, fuck no, but – are you sure?”

“Theon, do you know what’s the first rule in this place?”

“Enlighten me?”

“If you like someone, you’re more than welcome to do something about it without wasting time. And if they’re interested, then that whole thing about taking things slow is utterly bullshit. Now, are you interested?”

The moment Theon’s lips curve up in a grin that is half smug, a quarter intrigued, a quarter excited and an extra oh-fuck-I-can’t-believe-my-own-luck Robb decides that unless something happens like the two of them liking the same person or _whatever_ , he’s embracing monogamy here and now.

“Following your first rule… fuck, _yes_. I’ve been interested for years.”

Which Robb finds actually flattering as hell, and well – if Theon’s been interested for years, then he might as well make it worth his while. Not to mention, it wouldn’t be a good thing if he couldn’t live up to the expectations.

“Well then, by all means, my bed is there and a lot more comfortable than this one. Shall we?”

Theon crushes his mouth against Robb’s as he stands up and Robb decides that yes, that was the best idea he’s ever had.

Seriously. It was. Theon kisses him like he was starving for it all over again, and Robb can’t help feeling warm all over at the enthusiasm – not to mention that the guy can kiss. Fuck, the way his tongue is moving inside Robb’s mouth is something indeed, and if Robb thinks about all the things they have all the time to try – okay, he shouldn’t. If he does, he’ll probably come right here and right now and this won’t do.

“I was thinking,” he says when they part, and he sounds completely out of breath, “that I’d really like to blow you right now. What do you say?”

Theon’s cheek flush even harder at that, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

“Fuck, _yes_.” His voice is hoarse and Robb doesn’t waste time dropping to his knees at the side of the bed.

Theon kicks off his shoes and Robb is quick at pushing his jeans and underwear down his legs and out of the way. When he’s done, he puts his attention to the task at hand, and well. He’s half-flattered to see that Theon is halfway there already, even if he’d have liked to bring him there all the way – then again, he supposes they’ll have plenty of time for that in the future. And now it’s really time that Robb lives up to the expectations. He doesn’t want it to be over too soon though – he starts slow, mostly teasing; he starts leaving a trail of soft, quick kisses on the inside of Theon’s thighs, feeling them shake slightly under his mouth, and when he can’t postpone anymore, he doesn’t go straight for it. First he gives an experimental lick around the head, just to test the reaction – Theon’s swearing goes up a notch. Good. He goes on like that for a bit, just to make sure that Theon gets adjusted to it. The moment the swearing-and-moaning turns into straight up moaning Robb doesn’t waste time and takes Theon’s cock in his mouth, as deep as he can (and it’s a lot – he’s had some practice, thank you so very much), and well fuck but the way Theon is saying his name is doing all kinds of things to him. And he can feel himself getting even harder than he was when they started making out, but all things in good time. When one of Theon’s hands tentatively touches his hair, as if he’s not sure of whether he can do it or not, Robb reaches up and grabs his wrist, pulling it down; a moment later both of Theon’s hands are in his hair, pulling but not overtly so as Theon’s hips thrust forward shallowly. _Good_. Robb likes initiative. A whole fucking lot. He runs his tongue over the head of Theon’s cock again, knowing perfectly that there’s spit all over the side of his mouth but not really caring. He intends to do things properly. So when Theon stills for a moment after tugging on his hair a bit harder, he does move back a bit, just enough not to accidentally choke, waiting for it, and then Theon’s frame shakes and he’s coming in his mouth, hard enough that while Robb hadn’t planned on it he still has to move his head away. He swallows half of it while the rest ends up on his cheek, but the intention was there. And when he looks up Theon is breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed, his lips barely parted, breathing heavily, and Robb is painfully reminded of how hard he actually is.

Then Theon opens his eyes and looks down at him. For a second his face clearly says _what the fuck did just happen did we really do it oh fuck I don’t even comprehend it_ , but then he reaches down for Robb’s shirt and pulls him up. Robb goes with it very much willingly, moaning into Theon’s mouth when their lips crash together and while Theon pulls him down on the bed.

He also doesn’t expect Theon to kiss the dirty side of his face the moment he’s done kissing his mouth, but he totally doesn’t complain about it.

He moans out in relief when Theon’s hands go to his jeans and pull them down, and he moans out even louder when Theon’s hand closes around his cock. Also, he’s grateful that Theon isn’t in the mood for teasing (apparently), since his fingers are moving in short, efficient strokes; the hand that isn’t on his cock is fisted in Robb’s hair and – well. It might be slightly embarrassing that he comes in less than a minute, but then again by the point he was on the bed he had been _this_ close. He closes his eyes as he mutters _yes yes yes yes_ and _Theon_ and _fuck_ all over, his back arching up, and when Theon slams his mouth against his own again, without much finesse, he doesn’t really manage to kiss back as he’s still shaking and coming against Theon’s hand.

“Wow,” he blurts when it’s been some minutes and he’s lying on his back and coherent enough for speech. “Please tell me you’re not leaving for the foreseeable future.”

Theon snorts before turning on his side, looking at him. “Fuck no. I wasn’t planning on that. Unless –”

“Good. Because if I have a say in it, you’re totally not going anywhere. Do I have a say in it?”

Theon tries not to laugh, but he doesn’t manage it. “I suppose you do. Do they ever tell you that you can be demanding?”

“Sometimes. Is that an issue?”

“Fuck no. But we really should clean up. We’re disgusting.”

Robb has to concede that he’s right. He drags himself out of the bed, grabbing a pair of sweats along the way and taking a pair of his for Theon, too – he’ll wash the rest of his clothes tomorrow. They manage to get to and back from the nearest bathroom without bumping into anyone. The moment they’re back in his room, he doesn’t waste time going back under the covers and throwing an arm around Theon’s waist. And he’s very pleased when Theon goes with it at once.

“So,” he says, unable to help it, “does our little state live up to your expectations now?”

“Understatement, I’d say. I still can’t entirely buy that this happened for real, but I’ll get around to it.”

“Good. Oh, I should probably tell you that I didn’t tell anyone to make one of the rooms upstairs ready. Just because I like being straight.”

Theon laughs against his neck again as he shakes his head. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. But I’m kind of flattered, too, so let’s call it even.” And then he moves closer and puts his head on Robb’s shoulder, and Robb smiles to himself.

He still doesn’t know if it was love at first sight or however you call it, but he can’t wait to find out.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually *do* have plans to write more in this verse but as it is right now I'm swamped so I don't think it's happening soon. But I have some three/four other ones planned so they might happen at some point...
> 
> (Btw, if anyone was wondering while reading this: Davos is in a three-way with both Stannis and Marya and is in fact looking to move there asap. ;) )


End file.
